


Divine

by ziskandra



Series: Her Perfection [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Blasphemy, Cunnilingus, Established Relationship, F/F, Porn with Feelings, Post-Canon, Power Couple, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:14:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26024029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ziskandra/pseuds/ziskandra
Summary: After the Inquisition is disbanded, Evelyn Trevelyan and her lover, Divine Victoria, steal a quiet moment alone together.
Relationships: Cassandra Pentaghast/Female Trevelyan, Female Inquisitor/Cassandra Pentaghast
Series: Her Perfection [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2022941
Comments: 12
Kudos: 56
Collections: Femslash After Dark 2020





	Divine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sumi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sumi/gifts).



“Leliana tells me it took you two years to stop carrying a sword underneath your robes,” murmurs Evelyn as she clumsily assists Cassandra in the removal of her ceremonial vestments, delighting in the sight of one of the Chantry’s holy symbols crumpling as it hits the floor. Skimming her fingers over her lover’s now bare stomach, she asks, “I’m not going to cut myself on a hidden blade, am I?”

“Maker, no,” Cassandra protests, drawing in a shallow breath with hollowed cheeks as Evelyn’s hand drift upwards to cup a breast. “I thought she told you I stopp—” She interrupts herself as clarity dawns upon her. “Oh. I see. You were joking.”

Evelyn laughs, a deep hearty chuckle. “You’re the Divine,” she says, teasing one of Cassandra’s nipples between forefinger and thumb. “Are you allowed to blaspheme?”

Cassandra rolls her eyes, although the usual effect of the withering expression is reduced by the pretty flush that colours her cheeks. “Right now?” she starts, a hand shoving gently against Evelyn’s breastbone, guiding the back of her thighs against the plush ornate bed in the centre of the wide extravagant room. “I fear more for my vow of celibacy.”  
  
More than happy to take direction, Evelyn lands arse-first on the duvet, greedy fingers intent on tugging Cassandra down with her. There’s something incredibly erotic about witnessing one of the most powerful women in Thedas in all her naked glory, in marvelling at the strength of her muscles, the warrior’s physique, sinewed shoulders and indestructible thighs, tough enough to crush a dragon’s neck, if Cassandra so desired. Evelyn drinks in the sight of her, her strength and its contrasting softness: the swell of her breasts, pert brown nipples surrounded by their pebbled areolae; the gentle flare on her hips, not as prominent as Evelyn’s own but still more than enough to hold onto; the dark coarse curls that nest between Cassandra’s legs.

Maker, Evelyn loves this woman. Even if Andraste herself graced the mortal world with her presence once more, she would have nothing on Cassandra Pentaghast. Evelyn even loves Cassandra’s stupid hat, the only stitch of her clothing that remains. For now, Evelyn resolves to say nothing, wondering if Cassandra has noticed she still has it on.

“I hope you’re not considering strict adherence to your vows now,” Evelyn says as Cassandra’s knees settle down on either side of her hips, straddling her atop the bed. Practicing her best wide-eyed doe look, she continues, “Would you really leave me here, high and dry?”

Cassandra scoffs as she busies herself with dismantling Evelyn’s own outfit, the military-inspired formal dress that had somehow become a de facto uniform of the Inquisition. Evelyn wonders how long it will be before she has cause to wear it again, now that the Inquisition has been officially disbanded. In any case, she’s grateful for the assistance. She’d never anticipated how difficult formerly simple tasks like undressing herself could be with only one arm.

“If I know anything about you,” Cassandra starts, and Evelyn hears the implication that goes unsaid, that they have been lovers for almost three years, that Cassandra knows her better than anyone, “it’s that you’re certainly anything but _dry_.”  
  
It’s Evelyn’s turn to flush, the spike of arousal that Cassandra’s statement sends through her threatening to burn her from the inside out. Cassandra might have the power to set the lyrium in one’s blood aflame, but Evelyn doesn’t need to be a mage nor a templar for Cassandra to paralyse or torture her. Oh, no, Cassandra Pentaghast can have Evelyn at her mercy with her mere words alone.

“You know me too well,” Evelyn admits with a sigh as she presses her thighs together as she seeks friction. Her smalls are uncomfortably damp already, but she doubts she’ll have them on for much longer. Not if Cassandra has anything to do about it, with the way she’s pulling Evelyn’s shirt up over her shoulders, then unfastening her trousers to tug them down her legs. The sight of Cassandra, so determined, brow furrowed and tongue sticking out from the corner of her mouth just so, framed by the sheer shape and size of her enormous hat is plainly ridiculous and Evelyn can no longer control herself.

As Cassandra’s fingers press against Evelyn’s wet cunt through her smallclothes, Evelyn dissolves into inconsolable giggles.

Cassandra’s eyes narrow. “What,” she begins, in that delightful clipped accent of hers, “is so funny?”

It’s between laughs that Evelyn chokes out, “Are you going to leave your hat on?”  
  
A flash of realisation, of understanding, flashes through Cassandra’s eyes. They’re so close that Evelyn swears she can almost see her own reflection in her lover’s irises. “I am—” she starts, stumbles, her hands moving to the base of the garment in question, ready to remove it. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Evelyn hadn’t given the matter _serious_ consideration until now, but when she does, she realizes her answer is _fuck, yes._ She doesn’t manage to respond before Cassandra is tugging the hat off anyway. Even the mild pang of disappointment does little to dampen Evelyn’s current lust. The hat soon joins the discarded vestments on the floor.

She wonders what the members of the Exalted Council would think if they could see them now. That thought, too, arouses Evelyn more than she’d care to admit.

Leaning in, Cassandra places a surprisingly gentle kiss against the corner of Evelyn’s mouth. “I’m sorry,” she says, more seriously than strictly than necessary. “It would have been impractical.”

Evelyn laughs, nudges her nose against Cassandra’s. “How does the saying go? ‘Heavy is the head that wears the crown.’” Not that the hat’s a crown, not by any traditional definition of the word, but the metaphor lands.

Cassandra makes a thoughtful noise in the back of her throat as she helps Evelyn wriggle out of her undergarments: they’re now as wondrously naked as one another. “I never asked,” she says, pressing a kiss against Evelyn’s throat, in the juncture between neck and shoulder where her heartbeat flutters. “How are you feeling?”

The question had been some time coming, Evelyn thinks, not that she blames Cassandra for the delay. Knowing her lover, she would have pondered and pondered upon the right words to say until they spilled out of her, messy yet beautiful. Shrugging weakly, shorter arm flapping like a bird’s wing, Evelyn answers, “There is still much to be done.” Even though the Inquisition has disbanded, their work is no less important. They cannot simply rest on the laurels of the previous victories. 

“That’s not what I asked,” Cassandra protests, lips trailing a path of kisses across Evelyn’s collarbone. Evelyn can almost feel the crease of the other woman’s brow against her skin. “Don’t tell me all you can think about is duty.”

Evelyn almost laughs again but is instead distracted by Cassandra’s mouth enveloping the hardened peak of her nipple, tongue circling sensitive flesh, a gentle yet stimulating graze of the teeth. She inhales sharply. “Bit rich, coming from you.”

Cassandra has the good grace to look abashed, glancing briefly over her shoulder at the discarded ceremonial vestments that lay scattered on the floor. “It’s different,” she starts, but Evelyn cuts her off with a wave of her hand, the quirking of an eyebrow.

“Is it?” Evelyn asks. Their eyes meet.

Truth be told, back when she had first begun courting Cassandra, she thought that perhaps they would be too similar to get along. All the romance novels Evelyn had ever read had taught her that it was opposites that had the strongest attraction to one another, that love was an all-consuming passion that could either help one overcome any obstacle in the world, or drive one mad.

Evelyn knows better now. Loving Cassandra Pentaghast is the easiest thing she has ever done.

“No,” admits Cassandra, finally averting her gaze. Evelyn reaches for her face, traces a thumb against her cheek. “I only do what I must, because I am the only one who can ensure it is done.”

Evelyn’s attention drifts to the empty space where the rest of her left arm had once been. “I get it,” she says. “I had a magical glowing hand that could seal holes in the Fade.”

 _Had,_ perhaps, is the operative word, and it is in that moment that Evelyn realises what Cassandra had really been asking: without the Anchor, did she still feel any obligation to the Inquisition, to its goals?

It is as the pieces of the puzzle fall into place that Cassandra shimmies downwards, placing a kiss against Evelyn’s hipbone. Not wanting to undermine Cassandra’s efforts, her dedication, Evelyn adds, “It doesn’t change anything.” She prays Cassandra will intuit her meaning.

“I know,” Cassandra answers, her voice a husky whisper, face lowering between Evelyn’s thighs. “You were special long before you were ever marked. No-one else could have led the Inquisition like you did. Maker knows I didn’t have the charisma.”

“Does he?” Evelyn teases, tilting her hips in response to the featherlight touches of Cassandra’s breath against her skin. “I mean, you’re the leader of his Chantry. Seems like an odd choice, if this was a known fact.”

Cassandra smiles wryly. “I tell myself that every day. Besides, I’ve been told my speeches are getting better. In no small part to you.” 

“Oh?” Evelyn’s voice becomes a whimper as she does her best to contain herself. “I didn’t realise I was giving lessons.”

“Being with you is the lesson,” Cassandra answers, the last thing she says before she noses her way between Evelyn’s folds, inhaling deeply before she finds Evelyn’s clit with a decisive swipe of her tongue. The contact sends a jolt up Evelyn’s spine and she digs her fingers into Cassandra’s hair, unwinds her braid from its usual position atop her head.

“You know I feel the same way about you,” Evelyn reminds her lover as Cassandra sets about her task with determination, fingers soon joining in on the action, pressing and probing and crooking in deep, warm wetness, seeking out that spot that never fails to make Evelyn scream. “I hope – _ah_ – you believe me one day.”

Cassandra simply hums in response, the vibration and sensations and the fact that it has been too damn long since they’ve had the chance to do this last bringing Evelyn close to the brink of her climax far more quickly than she’d anticipated. Witty retorts and heart-felt observations fade fast from the forefront of her mind as she loses herself in the moment, the way her muscles brace in anticipation, the building tension in her gut, the noises that Cassandra makes, oh, Sweet Andraste, the _noises._

“Keep going, keep going, keep going,” Evelyn urges in a desperate mantra, even though she knows Cassandra has no intention of stopping now, not today, not like this. Her tongue’s demanding pace on her clit shows no signs of stopping, the thrust of her fingers increases in speed, force, depth, and then it all comes together in one immaculate moment.

“Oh, fuck, _Cass_ ,” swears Evelyn at the pinnacle of her peak, shoulders heaving as she comes undone, body rippling in pleasure as her chest heaves and she hooks her hand underneath Cassandra’s chin in order to urge her upwards. Cassandra obliges, kisses Evelyn soundly. She can taste herself on Cassandra’s lips. Still short of breath once her cunt has finishing pulsing, she tucks Cassandra’s braid behind her ears and remarks, “I can see why they call you _Your Perfection_.”

Cassandra snorts, one of her typical disgusted noises. Evelyn knows she doesn’t mean it. “Whatever you say, Your Worship.”

Evelyn laughs. She feels like she’s always laughing when Cassandra’s around. It doesn’t matter what else is going on in her life – political machinations, old evil gods, council meetings – being with Cassandra always makes her feel like she’s floating on clouds. “Most Holy.” She sings the words out loud as though they’re little more than a lover’s pet name, not the title of the most powerful religious figure in all of Thedas. If it wasn’t for their previous conversation, she’d argue she’s no longer the Inquisitor, but Cassandra is right: regardless of official titles, Evelyn will be the Inquisitor until the day she dies. Better to make peace with that fact now, than to run and hide from it.

“Want to make yourself comfortable?” Evelyn asks, waving her hand at her face as she settles back on the soft, plush bed, head propped up a pillow. “I’ve heard you taste simply _divine._ ”  
  
Cassandra groans, yet settles into place all the same. 


End file.
